


held.

by Sam (iStuhler)



Category: Graceland (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 00:20:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9691196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iStuhler/pseuds/Sam
Summary: It’s the hardest day of Mike’s life. He’s only sixteen, standing in a suit that’s just a bit too big for him with his hair cut a little too short and shoes that dig uncomfortably into his ankles. He stands with his feet in the grass, mud welling up around where his soles press into the dirt, and he stares at the hole in the ground where his grandfather’s coffin is about to be lowered into.





	

**One. Grandmother.**  

It’s the hardest day of Mike’s life. He’s only sixteen, standing in a suit that’s just a bit too big for him with his hair cut a little too short and shoes that dig uncomfortably into his ankles. He stands with his feet in the grass, mud welling up around where his soles press into the dirt, and he stares at the hole in the ground that his grandfather’s coffin is about to be lowered into.

His grandmother stands next to him, her hand on his shoulder. His mother and father are on his grandmother’s other side, standing just close enough to not get odd looks from relatives who haven’t seen them in a long time. His father’s got his hands folded, and his mother stares at her feet, eyes dry. Her dad is _dead_ and she can’t even cry.

Mike’s eyes, however, are _not_ dry. He can barely even see through his tears, cheeks wet. He’s proud of himself for not breaking down as the minister finishes the service and the coffin is slowly lowered. His grandmother’s hand on his shoulder tightens, and when the minister says “Thank you for coming” Mike turns and his grandmother pulls him in close.

She holds him tightly, her head just level with his shoulder, and so he has to duck his head a little to rest it on hers. Her hands are warm through the thin suit jacket and he wants to find some way to trap all of the vitality that this small woman possesses.

But he can’t. So he holds on.

 

**Two. Johnny.**

He’s been at Graceland for three weeks but it’s only just starting to feel like home.

He’s tried to keep his routine from Quantico: he wakes up early, makes his bed, goes for a run. If he thinks a little too much about how he’s _not_ sitting behind a desk in Washington DC, well. He can’t be blamed for that.

Things are going fine, though. He’s keeping busy, focused on trying to solidify his role with Bello. He spends hours every night going over how to take guns apart, put them back together again. Soon, he can put together an assault rifle with his eyes shut (he’d done it once, at 4 AM, just to see if he actually could).

And then Eddie sticks a gun in his mouth and blows his brains out in front of him.

_It’s just sauce, Mike._

Just sauce.

Just sauce.

He breaks two plates because he scrubs the dishes with too much strength. One of them slices across his palm, stinging as blood wells up amid the soap bubbles and the sauce. He sticks his hand under the running water, not even feeling the heat of it as it washes away the red.

Mike finishes the dishes with no further incident and climbs the stairs, making a beeline for the bathroom. He discards the bloody dish towel he’d wrapped his hand with and quickly winds a length of gauze around his palm. Red seeps through, but not as quickly as it had before, and Mike pockets some extra for later. He’s sure it’ll stop eventually; it hadn’t been that deep.

As he’s walking out of the bathroom, he runs into Johnny. Literally. The other man’s shirtless, with a towel over his shoulder, and he makes a startled noise. Evidently his head had been elsewhere too.

“Mikey, hey, man…”

Mike can hear the hesitancy in Johnny’s voice. Briggs must have told him.

“Hey, John…” Mike tries to side-step, to go into his room, but… Johnny shakes his head and leans in, arms around Mike tight. Mike freezes, out of instinct, but when Johnny’s hands start to smooth over his back…

“It’s okay, Mike. It _happens_.” It’s the first time Mike’s heard Johnny say anything that wasn’t meant to be taken as a joke. The first time that he’s heard the other agent be serious. Really serious.

Mike can feel the heat behind his eyes and he shakes his head, stepping back a little. If he wipes at his eyes it’d give him away, but he knows that Johnny’s close enough anyways to see the way his eyes shine in the dim light of the bathroom.

“Yeah. It’s… just a cut. I’ll be fine.” He holds up his hand, showing Johnny the wound. The other man’s expression changes, confusion as his brow furrows… but then he gets it. He sees the deflection and rolls with it, and Mike’s glad for it.

“Yeah, it’ll… it’ll heal, Mikey. Go get some rest, alright?” A clap on the shoulder, and he’s gone, the bathroom door shutting behind him.

Mike stands there until he hears the shower turn on, then walks slowly into his bedroom and closes the door behind him.

 

**Three. Charlie.**

“Mikey! Michael!”

Mike’s eyes crack open just before something big hits the bed behind him and something _sharp_ pokes him in the back. It’s an elbow, though it feels like he’s been hit with a hammer right in the center of his spine, and he lets out a yelp.

“Get _up_ , you big lug, wake _up_!” Charlie pokes and prods and jabs her fingers into his sides and he wiggles instinctively, trying to squirm away from her.

“Get _off_ me, Charlie, it’s too _early_ —”

“It’s your _birthday_ , Mike, get _up_!”

Oh. _Oh._ Shit.

“How did you—“

“You _kiddin_ ’ me? I looked in your file. Were you even _gonna_ tell any of us about that? You were just gonna what, go get Hectors and dig yourself a hole in the sand and sit out there all day on your own?”

“No, I…” That’s _exactly_ what he’d planned to do.

“Get _up_ , Mike. Come on.” Charlie tightens her hands on the edge of the elephant adorned comforter wrapped around his body and _pulls_ , and it slips off of him and onto the floor. Traitor.

Mike lays there, face down in just a t-shirt and his black briefs, hoping that maybe he blends in with the sheets below him. Maybe she doesn’t see him. Maybe—

She starts tickling his goddamn feet, and Mike rolls off the bed and onto the floor. “Okay, _okay_ , Charlie, I’m up. I’m _up_ , stop it—”

When he gets up, an affronted look on his face, she swoops in and wraps her arms around him tightly. He’s still sleepy enough that he hugs her back without thinking, and he can feel her smile against his shoulder.

“Happy birthday, Mikey,” she says, leaning up to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Now come downstairs. Johnny’s making breakfast.”

**Author's Note:**

> written for an anonymous prompter on tumblr who asked: Tbh I just wanted to give mike a hug every single episode because he was going through A Lot™ so like, literally any fic in which a good person (not...Briggs) finally gives mike warren the hug he deserves would be A+
> 
> if you want to prompt me, my tumblr can be found [here](http://laurelhealy.tumblr.com)!


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